


Rita Skeeter and The Boy Who Lived

by Corpium



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Daily Prophet, Dursley Family Bashing (Harry Potter), Fix-It, Gen, Intelligent Harry Potter, Is it Bashing if Rita's the one doing it?, Misguided Albus Dumbledore, Pre-Hogwarts, Rita Skeeter & Investigative Journalism, Rita Skeeter Meets Harry Before Hogwarts, Rita is Shocked and Appalled, Smart Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 09:08:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27468496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corpium/pseuds/Corpium
Summary: Magical means failed to track the boy down, but Muggle means proved surprisingly easy. It seems whoever placed the child in this situation didn’t consider Muggles dangerous – very few of us do, after all. (And perhaps that was our gravest mistake, regarding young Mr. Potter.) But if a lone reporter can track the boy down so easily, then how easy would it be for a vengeful Dark witch or wizard to do the same?For the Boy Who Lived, now the tender age of 10, is not training with Gringotts cursebreakers. He is not learning under the careful tutelage of Albus Dumbledore. He is not basking in the lap of luxury while training with masters of defense, and he is certainly not in good hands. No, Harry Potter is living with Muggles. Muggles who despise him.--Rita Skeeter investigates the boa constrictor incident and snags herself the story of the century.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Rita Skeeter
Comments: 84
Kudos: 383





	1. THE BOY WHO LIVED IN PERIL

**Author's Note:**

> "… Ministry blunders …culprits not apprehended …lax security …Dark wizards running unchecked … national disgrace…" - Arthur Weasley quoting Rita's article regarding the Quidditch World Cup. 
> 
> Arthur wasn't happy with the article. But, well, she wasn't wrong, was she?

**July 5th, 1991**

## THE BOY WHO LIVED IN PERIL

Despite the multitude of wild rumors regarding our young Saviour’s upbringing, no one would have guessed the true nature of his guardians and homelife, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Alleged sightings have placed him everywhere from Prague to New Orleans to our own Isle of Skye.

“I hear he’s been training with Gringotts cursebreakers in Egypt,” says Auror John Dawlish of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

“I understand he’s in very good hands,” says Mafalda Hopkirk of the Child Protection Department.

“He’s learning from Chief Warlock Dumbledore himself, I believe,” says Tiberius Ogden of the Wizengamot.

As one can see, it is a regrettable fact that all of us, even our own Ministry officials, assumed that our precious hero was being pampered in the lap of luxury, trained by masters of defense and safer than any other child in the world. Alas, we assumed wrong.

Discovering the Boy Who Lived’s whereabouts was no small feat for the Daily Prophet’s correspondent, but it wasn’t nearly as difficult as it should have been. An incident of public accidental magic at a Muggle menagerie drew the attention of the Ministry – as well as the attention of this intrepid reporter – as the event required a hasty response from multiple Obliviators. A Muggle menagerie, or a “zoo,” as they call it, houses a wide variety of non-magical animals from all around the world. These “zoos” tend to be quite popular, as well as highly public.

This June 23rd, our dear Harry visited such a zoo. This particular zoo, which won’t be named in order to protect Harry’s location, was home to a Boa Constrictor, a large but non-venomous snake native to South America. According to the soon-to-be obliviated witnesses, a dark-haired boy with shockingly green eyes and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead was observing the snake when the exhibit’s glass wall “mysteriously” vanished. Another boy fell into the exhibit – or perhaps was pushed – and the snake slithered away, snapping at the Muggles’ feet. 

Naturally, anyone would find it alarming to hear about a boy with Potter’s description setting a snake on Muggles. At the moment, it seemed as if his defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may have been none other than a future Dark Lord eliminating the competition. But fear not. (Or perhaps, unfortunately, fear more.) Upon further investigation, this case could not be more different.

Magical means failed to track the boy down, but Muggle means proved surprisingly easy. It seems whoever placed the child in this situation didn’t consider Muggles dangerous – very few of us do, after all. (And perhaps that was our gravest mistake, regarding young Mr. Potter.) But if a lone reporter can track the boy down so easily, then how easy would it be for a vengeful Dark witch or wizard to do the same?

For the Boy Who Lived, now the tender age of 10, is not training with Gringotts cursebreakers. He is not learning under the careful tutelage of Albus Dumbledore. He is not basking in the lap of luxury while training with masters of defense, and he is certainly not in good hands. No, Harry Potter is living with Muggles. Muggles who despise him.

_Continued on page 4_ …

The Muggles in question are his closest blood-relatives, but that is the only positive thing that can be said about them. As you know, the much-missed Lily Potter was a talented Muggleborn witch who was on the path to becoming a Charms Master before her untimely demise. She loved the magical world. Her Muggle sister, who at this time will remain unnamed, does not. 

Harry Potter’s relatives loathe magic, and because of this, they loathe him. They scornfully address him as “Freak” and “Boy,” never using his name, and if you ask Harry’s uncle about their custody of the boy, he’ll tell you that, “The ungrateful brat’s parents died in a car accident. Stupid drunks.” Yes, you read that correctly. Harry Potter has grown up believing that his war hero parents died in a Muggle transportation accident while intoxicated with Muggle liquor. These are direct quotes, taken down with a Muggle writing utensil -- no Quick Quote Quill or exaggeration involved, most unfortunately.

And alas, to our world’s shame, that’s not the end of Mr. Potter’s regrettable circumstances. In fact, until now Harry never knew magic was real. The Muggles swore to “stamp it out of the boy.” The word “magic” itself is banned in the house, as well as any books or games that may refer to it, and accidentally using the word will get little Harry a slap over the head and a week in his cupboard. Yes, that’s right. A cupboard. Harry Potter lives in a cupboard under the stairs.

But don’t fool yourself into thinking that the Muggles are simply too poor to afford the child a room, for Harry’s aunt and uncle have their own 10-year-old son (also Muggle) who has not one bedroom, but two. Yes, unfortunately you read this, too, correctly. While Harry Potter has only a cupboard to sleep in, his cousin, who shall be referred to by one of his nicknames, “Dudders,” has two whole bedrooms, one for himself, and the other for all his discarded possessions. You see, while Harry only gets dirty socks for presents on holidays, Dudders gets dozens of expensive gifts, so he needs that extra space much more than the Boy Who Lived does, doesn’t he?

Perhaps Dudders truly does need more space, at least in one way. The Muggles serve Dudders no less than five full meals of adult-size portions every day, resulting in a morbidly large child with a double chin. They serve Harry nothing, however. No, in fact, Harry cooks their meals for them and serves himself only the scraps, if he’s lucky enough to be allowed to do so. They’re incredibly fond of starving him to “teach him his place,” which means the boy who saved us all is far too skinny and malnourished – the embodiment of “skin and bones.” While James was tall and Lily was of average height, Harry is quite short for his age. Could this be a mere coincidence? Or a sign of something far more insidious?

Aside from the morbid obesity, “Darling Dudders” is in good health. Comparatively, in addition to the malnourishment, Harry is usually sunburnt from hours spent outside gardening (a chore given by his aunt, not a hobby he chooses to partake in) and covered in bruises. “We would never beat the boy, of course. We’re not monsters,” says Harry’s uncle. “But sometimes that thick head of his needs a firm hand.” And that is, in part, true. Harry’s aunt and uncle don’t beat him. (In their eyes, the occasional slap, kick, and body slam don’t count, nor does throwing cookware at the child’s head.) But they do let their son beat Harry as much as he likes.

Dudders, as you can guess, is not a very active child – except when it comes to his favorite sport, “Harry Hunting,” in which he and his friends gang up to hunt down Harry and beat him until he manages to escape or fall unconscious. Harry, who has probably suffered multiple broken bones and concussions from this, has never been to a “doctor,” a Muggle version of a medi-witch or wizard, in order to attend to any of the injuries that may have come of this. Indeed, with the number of hits he’s taken to the head, whether they be from fists or frying pans, it’s a wonder Harry hasn’t been brain-damaged – yet.

Luckily, upon speaking with the child himself, it appears that despite it all, he has a rather level head on his shoulders. Harry Potter is a resilient boy who has learned to keep his head down and stay out of the way far too well. While his Muggle school records would imply low intelligence, this is, in fact, a result of his own self-preservation; if he gets higher scores than Dudders, he clearly must be cheating and sabotaging his cousin’s grades, in his Muggle guardians’ eyes, at least.

Despite his self-preservation and lack of brain damage, Harry still shows far too many ill effects from the Muggles’ treatment. He was bewildered that an adult might approach him with anything but ill intent, but a kind word and a hot meal won him over quickly enough – far too quickly, actually, in the Prophet correspondent’s opinion. As flattering as it may be to be stared at in adoration by the saviour of the wizarding world, should simple kindness and the promise of steady meals really be enough to warrant such a response?

It truly is unbelievable how vulnerable and how ignorant the boy has been kept for the last 10 years. Indeed, it was only a matter of a few days to convince the boy to join the Daily Prophet’s reporter on a trip to the occularian’s for a proper pair of glasses. (He has been wearing the same pair of glasses since his aunt plucked them out of a donation bin five years ago. The occularian was appalled by the state of the boy’s deteriorated vision.) As delightful as it may have been to introduce the child to our world, it was also frightening how easy it was to spirit the child away, if only for a day. His relatives didn’t even notice he was gone, used to him spending hours in the garden or roaming the neighborhood, staying out of their perilous sight. How easy it would have been for a vengeful Death Eater to have coaxed the child away. How easy it would have been for us never to see our dear Boy Who Lived again. And how long would it have taken any of us to notice? Days, weeks, even years, perhaps?

But rest easy, for now, at least. Seeing this travesty of justice, Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter broke the reporters’ custom not to interfere directly with such matters and took things into her own hands -- seeing as how the Ministry clearly can’t be trusted to do their duty, having neglected it for the last decade. She enlisted the services of the best Wardmasters in Europe, Warren & Twycross, as well as the Kongo tribe’s long-lived Wardmaster and Enchanter, Nimi a Lukeni. The three agreed to set up various wards and protections on and around Harry’s home, neighborhood, relatives (unfortunately), and Harry himself. There were already blood wards on Harry’s house itself, but these wards, while powerful, are far too specific to protect against all threats, and they rely on Harry considering his relatives house “home.” Given the horrendous way his relatives treat him, it’s a miracle Harry considers their house home at all.

Additionally, one of our society’s prominent muggleborns has crafted her own protections and enchantments to prevent witches or wizards from finding Harry through Muggle methods in the future. This muggleborn shall remain unnamed, as, unlike the Wardmasters mentioned above, she doesn’t have the same protections as they do to prevent Dark witches or wizards from persuading her into giving up Harry’s location. With this said, the Daily Prophet’s Special Correspondent has taken the necessary Vows to prevent her from giving up Harry’s location as well.

Now that Harry’s situation has been revealed, hopefully the Ministry will do its job and young Harry won’t need these protections for much longer. The Prophet’s Special Correspondent may have had some words with the Muggles regarding their treatment of young Harry, but that doesn’t mean their home will suddenly become suitable for him. Even if his aunt never hits him with a frying pan again, even if his uncle never calls him a freak again, even if they start feeding him right and buying him proper clothes, they will never love him or treat him as he deserves. They will never be kind to him, never encourage him, never console him. They will never teach him how to navigate the wizarding world like all purebloods teach their own; they will never teach him how to interact with wizards or witches of standing; they will never teach him how to handle his fame or station. They offer nothing to him – nothing except hate and misery. Given all this, can anyone blame little Harry for pushing his bully of a cousin into a snake’s exhibit? Wouldn’t most of us have done the same, if not even worse, in his place?

Is this really the life we want for our saviour? Is this really the best we can do? Who are we, as a society, to allow a child to be treated like less than a house elf, to be kept completely ignorant of his heritage and his world? What does it say about us that we allow ourselves to sit back and celebrate while the child who lost it all for us suffers in a cupboard with only spiders for company?

Dear readers, we must not -cannot- allow this to continue. Whoever allowed this to happen has much to answer for, and the Ministry must do their job and rectify this great injustice as soon as possible. Enough with the incompetence! Harry Potter needs a proper home filled with love and care. The Boy Who Lived must be allowed to live.


	2. POTTER CHANGES CUSTODY; ABUSIVE GUARDIAN A SQUIB!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rita's the worst kind of fairy god mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We jump back in time for some context, then on to Skeeter's next article! Also, for context, the first article was written July 5th, 1991. I'll edit the first chapter and stick that in there. In canon, I believe Harry's first letter arrived July 24th.

**June 30 th, 1991**

It started with a beetle.

Aunt Petunia had been swatting at it all morning and had finally reached her breaking point while Harry was cooking breakfast. In her fury, she had exchanged her fly swatter for a broom, and when the darting little pest landed on Harry’s shoulder, she didn’t hesitate a second to take a swing at it. The beetle flew off just in time, and the broom smacked Harry in the face. Harry, who had been trying to dodge her swings without burning the bacon or eggs, stumbled backward with the pan full of bacon still in his hand and sent hot grease and bacon strips flying.

One slice hit Petunia’s forehead, so she smacked him in the back with the broom, screeching. She ordered Harry to clean it all up, “And get rid of that horrid thing. Bugs in the house! I won’t have it!” She stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Harry alone to clean up the mess. Despite the stinging from the grease burns, Harry was rather pleased. There were 12 pieces of bacon on the ground, and they were all his. After spending a week in the cupboard because of the incident with the python, 12 pieces of dirty bacon was a veritable feast. If only he’d had a chance to clean the kitchen floor during that week in the cupboard.

-o-

The bug was easy to get out of the house once Harry realized it was following him. Perhaps it wanted to be his friend like the spiders in the cupboard.

“You can’t be friends with the spiders like I am, though,” Harry murmured to it while he tended the garden. He petted the sad leaf of one of the begonias. It was starting to wilt, and Harry was trying to save it before Petunia noticed and made him replace it. He liked to think that sometimes, when he told sick plants how good they were, they perked up enough to survive his aunt’s exacting eye. “They leave me alone because I’m bigger than them,” he confided in the beetle. “But I think they’d like you a little too much.”

The beetle did not respond verbally, but Harry liked to imagine that it was twitching its little antennae at him in thanks.

-o-

The beetle hung around all week and seemed to listen quite intently when he talked to it. Maybe it was like the snake, only unable to talk back because it didn't have a mouth. An iridescent emerald, it was one of the prettiest things Harry had ever seen, and he liked to think of it as his, like a pet of his very own. It was very pretty, too, and he’d hate to see it killed. He told it so and said, “I think I’ll name you Gem.”

-o-

Gem was an odd bug that followed Harry around everywhere, even when he told it not to, like when Dudley and his gang went Harry Hunting. It buzzed around him as he ran that afternoon, and Harry liked to think it was purposefully leading him to good hiding places. Alas, it was too good to last.

Harry was climbing up one of the trees next to the empty playground when a hand grabbed him by the ankle and yanked him down. “Got him!” crowed Piers, gripping Harry by the arm while Dudley huffed and puffed his way towards them. Harry gritted his teeth and tried to keep his weight off his freshly sprained ankle without the other two boys noticing.

Dudley looked at the playground beside them and grinned nastily at Harry. “Think you’re still a little kid, freak? Wanna play on the playground?”

Piers’ cold eyes scared Harry far more than Dudley’s did. “I think he was waiting for the little kids to come and play, don’t you, Duds? Thought he could get away with picking on them, huh?” He shook Harry gruffly.

Harry, who was probably the same size as half the little kids Piers was so concerned about, didn’t bother answering. Sticking up for himself always made it worse. Then again, silence didn’t always help, either.

Piers shook him again, harder this time. “Huh, Potter? Admit it – you were lying in wait to steal their toys when they weren’t looking. I’ve heard the rumors.”

“Dudley started those rumors, you prat!” Harry couldn’t stop himself from saying, and immediately regretted it.

“Liar!” shouted Dudley as he shoved Harry out of Piers’ grip and onto the ground. Dudley started to say something else, but before he could, Harry was off and running. His ankle screamed and threatened to crumple under him, but Harry kept going.

It was no use – Harry could outrun Dudley any day in any condition, but not Piers, especially when he was limping. He could hear Piers’ feet pounding behind him, then fingers skimming his shirt, but then –

“Oy, get it off me!” Piers shouted from further behind Harry than he should’ve been. Harry knew he was wasting the opportunity to escape, but stopped and turned around anyway. A big bug was flying around Piers’ face, bumping into him repeatedly. Piers swatted at it over and over, each time just barely missing. “What the hell!?” he sputtered.

Sunlight gleamed off the bug, and Harry’s stomach dropped. It was a beautiful, iridescent emerald. Gem.

He watched in horror as Dudley lumbered over with a puzzled look. “Hold still,” Dudley told Piers, holding his hands at the ready to snatch the bug out of the air.

As a look of triumph came over Dudley’s face, Harry shouted, “No! Dudley, wait—”

But it was too late. Dudley clapped his hands together with a loud **crack** and smashed the beetle between his palms. Harry stood there dumbly, unable to comprehend what had just occurred. He was suddenly very cold, and he felt rather far away.

Dudley opened his hands and stared down at them in confusion. “I swear I…,” he started to say before his gaze snapped to Harry, who was too busy staring at Dudley’s empty, clean hands in a wash of relief to notice his impending doom. “You did something, didn’t you?” asked Dudley as he advanced, his face turning purple, Piers on his heels. “I’ve seen that bug before.” Harry turned to bolt again, but Dudley grabbed him by the shirt collar. “I’m telling Mum and Dad. But first....”

Harry braced himself as Dudley raised his fist - and then something strange happened.

“Oh dear, oh dear, what do we have here, Mr. Dursley?” asked a prim voice. The voice belonged to a strange woman in an emerald green blouse and fancy dress pants. She had rectangular glasses, blond hair, and an unfamiliar face. Harry wasn’t sure how she knew Dudley, and he certainly didn’t know where she had come from. “If anyone will be telling your parents anything, it will be me, informing them of what a dreadful bully you’ve been behind their backs.”

“I don’t even know who you are, lady,” Dudley scoffed. “They wouldn’t believe you.”

The woman tsked. “How unobservant. Why, I’m the head of the Smeltings School Board, and I’ve been watching you for the past week. Smeltings takes its admissions process very seriously, you know. One word from me, darling ‘Dudders,’ and I’ll have you expelled from Smeltings before you’ve so much as stepped foot through the doors. What will your parents say then?”

Dudley sputtered. “You can’t do that—“

She leaned forward and winked. “Oh, I most assuredly can. But if you start to behave like the proper young man your poor mother thinks you are, I might magnanimously change my mind.”

“Magna-what--?” started Dudley, but the woman just raised an imperious brow at him. Dudley scowled and, after a final glance between the woman and Harry, pulled Piers away, saying, “Come on, Piers. Let’s get out of here.”

As the two left, Harry tried to inch away from the woman, but she grabbed him by one of his shoulders, her fingernails digging in like claws. “Not so fast, Harry, dear,” she said. “There’s no need to run from me.”

Harry looked at her skeptically. “Are you really the head of the Smeltings School Board?”

The woman smiled. “No. I’m a reporter, simply doing my civic duty. But that will be our little secret for now, won't it?"

Harry weighed his options. Running away didn't seem like a very good one at the moment, especially not after she had just saved him from Dudley. "Why shouldn't I tell them?" he asked, mostly to see what she would say.

"Well, Harry, I'm quite interested in your family. It’s horrible how they treat you. A poor orphan, shunned and hurt by the very people meant to cherish and protect him. We could talk about it, if you like.”

“I'd rather not,” Harry answered honestly.

The woman hummed. “What if I said I could find you a new family? A family you deserve. A family who would love you.”

Harry didn’t answer, but apparently the woman didn’t need him to.

“Oh, Harry,” she crooned, steering him towards one of the park’s tables. “We have so much to discuss.”

o-o-o

**July 5th, 1991**

##  _The Boy Who Lived in Peril_

o-o-o

**July 8 th, 1991**

##  _Potter Changes Custody; Abusive Guardian a Squib!_

_Because Muggles cannot be held accountable for crimes in our society, many of us feared Harry Potter’s dreadful guardians would escape justice with nothing but minor inconveniences for their misdeeds, yet recent discoveries mean that at least one of them will face the consequences she deserves, writes Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter._

_For, according to Muggle records and some rather difficult-to-find (but nothing too difficult for this reporter to find!) wizarding ones, one of the Muggles is not, in fact, a Muggle, but a Squib!_

_Lily Potter (née Evans) and her sister, Petunia Dursley (née Evans) are descended from none other than the Crouch family – yes, that’s right, one of our own Sacred Twenty-Eight! Three generations ago, Faquarl Crouch and his wife, Esther Crouch (née Smith) gave birth to two children, one being our own Bartemius Crouch Sr. of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, the other being a little girl named Orpha. Upon discovering Orpha was a Squib, they disowned her, obliviated her, and left her on the doorstep of a Muggle orphanage. Orpha later married a Muggle, Joshua Evans, and gave birth to two children, Lily and Petunia Dursley, the latter of whom held custody of Harry Potter with her Muggle husband until yesterday._

_This, in effect, means Lily Potter, long believed to be a Muggleborn, was in fact a half-blood, while Petunia is a Squib, and therefore can be charged and punished to the fullest extent of the law. It should come as no surprise that the magic-hating Petunia, when made aware of this, refused to acknowledge her magical roots._

_Funnily enough, so did her and Harry’s closest magical relative, Bartemius Crouch Sr. When asked about his willingness to adopt the Boy Who Lived, Mr. Crouch expressed doubt and denied the relation. Why he would doubt this most thorough research and pass on the honor of caring for the Boy Who Lived remains a mystery. Perhaps we can assume he’s afraid that acknowledging a Squib in the family lineage will do more damage to the Crouch family reputation than having the Boy Who Lived as a part of it will improve it, no? Whatever the case may be, the fact remains that Harry Potter is directly descended from a Crouch Squib, and his situation begs the questions: would his situation have ever occurred if a Squib had not been so shamefully disposed of? And how many other “Muggleborns” out there are like Lily Potter, halfbloods without knowing it? The Crouch family’s decision to dispose of Orpha as they did may have been shameful, but we all know, whether we approve or not, that it is not as uncommon a choice as we may expect._

_Whatever the case may be, this leaves a multitude of second and third cousins who may possibly claim custody of Harry Potter. The most notable of whom who have expressed interest are Narcissa Malfoy (née Black), her sister Andromeda Tonks (née Black), Reginald Parkinson, and Charles Abbott._

_In the meantime, Harry has been placed in the care of Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. While he has only been with her for a day, Harry seems to be quite happy in her care – and rather bewildered! “She’s making me go clothing shopping with her tomorrow,” he complains. “I don’t understand why she thinks she needs to waste her money on so many robes for me – it’s much cheaper to get me some hand-me-downs, especially if they're a bit big so I can grow into them.” Our dear Harry. So used to hand-me-downs that he doesn’t think he deserves better. Our great society will surely come together to teach him otherwise._

_As negotiations and deliberations take place in the Wizengamot to decide the fate of Harry Potter's future, we can only hope that these revelations regarding Mrs. Dursley spurs our Ministry into pressing the appropriate charges against her. We can all agree that it is the very least our officials ought to do for him, given the ten years they allowed him to spend living in that notorious cupboard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even if I don't respond to all your comments individually, please know that I treasure each and every one of them! They give me strength :)


	3. A Whole New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madame Bones teaches Harry a hard lesson. 
> 
> (Dumbledore would hate it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no articles in this one, sorry!

**July 7** ** th ** **, 1991**

The Bones family was… alright. Much better than the Dursleys, for certain. On the first day with her, Madame Bones fed him half as much food as Dudley ate, and even that was so much that it nearly made Harry sick. Her face scrunched up funnily when he expressed this, so he tried to make her happy by eating more, which backfired and made her face scrunch up even more. She tried to explain to him “normal” behavior and expectations, which were very much the opposite of what he was used to. He was not to do any chores. He was not to sleep in the cupboard, and he was not to stay hidden in his room. He was not to flinch when she moved too quickly, and he was not to apologize when he thought she was upset, which seemed to be a lot. In fact, everything he was supposed to do at the Dursleys’, he was not to do at the Boneses’.

What he was supposed to do seemed to be something of a mystery, actually. Without chores to fill his time, and with nowhere like the playground in Little Whinging to run off to, Harry was rather at a loss. What was it that normal children did all day in the wizarding world? For the wizarding world didn’t seem to have computer games like Dudley had, and he certainly didn’t have friends like Dudley did, either. And even if he did have friends, he wouldn’t want to play with them like Dudley did with his. Madame Bones answered this by showing him a bookcase with a shelf full of books he was allowed (“welcome”) to read, and promised him that he could meet her niece, Susan, who was the same age as him, later that day. In the meantime, he was to learn about the wizarding world and ask her any questions he had.

Harry had never been allowed to read at the Dursleys, and he had definitely never been encouraged to ask questions. Attempting to read got him deemed “a lazy layabout,” while questions had usually led to shouting, starving in the cupboard, or pain. Madame Bones seemed decent enough, but she also seemed stern, and Harry didn’t know what kind of questions she thought were the _wrong_ questions, so the choice between the two was clear: read. So read he did. He read for several hours, and the pace he was able to read at surprised himself. He was getting through so much! And he wasn’t getting a headache, either. It was amazing, how he simply had to look at a word and move on to the next without having to squint and put all his effort into defining each fuzzy letter. It was all so clear! In fact, it was a fairly enjoyable, productive experience, if not slightly confusing at times when certain wizarding terms and phrases didn’t make sense. At first, he thought it might be a magic thing, but then he realized it was his new glasses. Seeing like a normal person meant reading like a normal one, too, apparently.

The spectacles were mostly rectangular like Rita’s, with little winglike flairs on the sides and with bold, green frames “to match your eyes. Brings out that killing curse green! So lovely and haunting.” Thankfully, the flairs were smaller than Rita’s own, and she hadn’t added any enchanted jewels to the frames, either. In Harry’s opinion, the glasses were still a little gaudy and far too likely to attract attention, but they were still a gift. 

Madame Bones had clucked when she waved her wand over them and removed a tracking charm, which she explained was exactly what it sounded like. Harry was a little perturbed by this, but he still refused Madame Bones’s offer to replace them with a new pair. They were his first real gift ever that wasn’t used or dirty, tracking charm or not.

Harry met Madam Bones’s niece, Susan, later that afternoon, and she stayed till just past dinner. She was shy and treated Harry strangely at first, like he was delicate glass and might shatter at any moment. Still, she was happy to tell him all about the wizarding world, and they warmed up to each other quickly and played a board game called _Snitch Snatcher!_ Her parents joined them for dinner and chatted amiably with (at) him, and Susan picked up the slack when he didn’t know how to respond to polite adults paying him so much attention. 

After dinner, though, while her parents and Madame Bones chatted, Susan pulled Harry into the study and fretted over him eating so little. She got very pushy actually, until Harry finally had to ask, “Did your aunt tell you about my relatives?” Madame Bones had not seemed very impressed with them. She had looked at them like one might look at a steaming pile of dog poop sitting in the middle of an otherwise pristine, freshly mowed lawn.

Susan blinked rapidly, mouth agape, then stuttered, “No, I mean, a little, but not really. It’s – don’t you—?” She shut her mouth and looked at him quizzically, then said tentatively, “I read about it in the paper.”

“The paper?” Harry asked, unease making his stomach curl.

“There was an article in _The Daily Prophet_ , our newspaper, a couple days ago. It’s why you’re here with my aunt. Didn’t you know?”

Harry shook his head mutely, and Susan bit her lip.

“I think I saw it sitting on my aunt’s desk,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll be right back.” She left the study, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

Movement in the corner of his eye drew Harry’s attention. A green beetle was crawling along the bookshelves. A very familiar green beetle. “…Gem?” Harry asked with uncertainty, but before he could get a closer look, the beetle buzzed into flight and zoomed out the cracked open window.

-o-

 **July 8** ** th ** **, 1991**

During breakfast the next morning, Madame Bones skimmed the newspaper with thin lips then handed it wordlessly to Harry. “ _POTTER CHANGES CUSTODY; ABUSIVE GUARDIAN A SQUIB!”_ the article read on the first page. Aunt Petunia’s outraged, sneering face stared up at him, moving as she ranted soundlessly. She was standing in the front yard in her bathrobe, her hair curlers still in, screeching and jabbing her finger at the camera. Harry reached for his glass of raspberry juice (“Pumpkin juice is a popular drink, Harry, but not the only one,”) without looking, knocking it over.

He panicked for a second, then thanked Madame Bones softly when she vanished the mess. Normally he’d apologize more, but the article was just too engrossing. Finally, he asked, “What’s a Squib?”

Madame Bones took a moment to dab at her mouth with her cloth napkin. She gave Harry a long, examining look, then said, “Blood is very important to many people in the wizarding world.”

-o-

They went clothes shopping later that day in disguise using glamours. “So that horrid woman doesn’t follow us around,” she explained, which led her and Harry to discuss Rita. Madame Bones thought Rita was a bad person, while Harry was pretty sure she wasn’t.

“But she did get me away from them,” Harry said crossly. “She promised she would, and she did.”

“I’m sure she promised many things,” Madame Bones snapped, then took a deep breath. “Look, Harry,” she said gently. “I know you’re young, and I wish I could shield you from these things….” She half sounded like she was trying to convince herself of something. “You’re more than just famous, Harry. What you did as a baby changed the world…. You’re a very powerful political figure. Certain people will want to use you for that power, and they won’t care that you’re young or naïve. In fact, they’ll happily take advantage of it.” Her voice hardened and her gray eyes bore into his. “Skeeter is one of those people, so while it may be true that you escaped those awful people because of her influence, you still have to think about _why_ and _how_ she did it. Ms. Skeeter is a very manipulative, self-centered person, and everything she does is to help herself, not anyone else.”

“But–” Harry started to argue, because one way or another, Rita had helped him, but Madame Bones cut him off with a finger.

“She didn’t need to ‘help’ you in the way that she did, Harry. She could have reported it to my department, or, quite frankly, to any official of ranking in the Ministry. Instead she chose to share your life story with the whole world. _Everyone_ knows, Harry. Everyone knows how they treated you, what they did to you, and that can’t be undone. How does that make you feel?”

Harry thought about it. He tried not to think of his feelings very often because when he did, he tended to get angry and frustrated, and usually that got him in trouble. He had read Rita’s article. The whole world really did know how the Dursleys treated him, something he had always kept quiet at school, even when the teachers complained about how small he was or how raggedly he dressed. He thought about the government officials that had fluttered about him, cooing and sighing and staring at him with woeful eyes when they thought he wasn’t looking. He thought of the wizarding policeman – auror – who had stared at the foul stains in his cupboard with horror. He thought of the doctor – mediwitch – who had examined him as soon as Minister Fudge and Madame Bones had whisked him away. She had cast a dozen diagnostic spells on him, tsked and shook her head. How she muttered furiously under her breath, then stopped as soon as she realized Harry was paying attention. He thought of Susan’s parents, who treated him more like a wounded animal than a kid.

No, Harry thought. He did not like how it felt to be pitied by the world. He looked at the ground and shrugged. 

Madame Bones watched him for an uncomfortable moment. She was hard to read, and always seemed to be serious and focused. “She didn’t have to do that, Harry. But your life made a good story, so she used it…. She used you, and more people will try to do the same thing in the future. You have to be aware of these things.... I wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell you this,” she said sorrowfully.

Harry swallowed hard and clenched his fists. He didn’t know what he was feeling, and he didn’t care to think about it. 

“Would you like some time to yourself before we go shopping?” Madame Bones asked him. 

Harry only nodded. 

-o-

**July 11 th, 1991**

No life-changing articles had come out in the last few days, for which Harry was very grateful. They had actually been rather relaxing. He had a whole new wardrobe; he never imagined that clothes could make such a difference to his confidence, but with clothes that fit, he felt like a whole new person. He found himself standing taller, and he kept looking in the mirror, admiring the cut of his shoulders. He ducked his head when Madame Bones saw him doing so, but she offered him a rare smile and ruffled his hair.

“You look just like your father,” she said. “He’d be so proud of you.” And then she told him stories, wonderful stories, of how she had been an Auror, and James had been a pesky member of the Order of the Phoenix, a vigilante group Madame Bones approved of privately but couldn’t approve of in public during the war. She had arrested him a couple times, actually, but she always let him off with a fine. The Potter vaults, wealthy due to Fleamont’s invention of the Sleakeazy potion (which Harry was very excited to try), easily paid James Potter’s way out every time.

It was kind of funny actually. If only Vernon knew that Harry’s father really was a criminal. A vigilante, even. Vernon would have never let Harry live it down. Harry loved it, though. His father, a vigilante with magic powers, reminded him of the comic book superheroes he saw other students reading about in school. His mother, too, was part of the Order, but she was much better at not getting caught. His parents were superheroes.

Harry had gotten numerous other things while shopping as well. A trunk that was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside, his school books – plus a couple extra he was interested in – potion supplies (Madame Bones shot down the gold cauldron idea immediately), and a wand. Madame Bones had looked at him skeptically after they bought it, then warned Harry never to share what Ollivander said about his wand with anyone else, especially not Rita Skeeter. He had also, at the behest of the ever practical Madame Bones, gotten himself a beautiful snowy owl to deliver mail for him. He named her Hedwig and fed her far too much bacon, according to Madame Bones.

He tried not to think about Rita, but he couldn’t stop himself from running Madame Bones’s words about her through his head over and over again. He was powerful, and people would want to use him because of it. Rita already had, and he was sure she would try again. But he still refused to get new glasses. She hadn’t _had_ to give them to him, but she did anyway. Madame Bones said that was just one more way she manipulated him, but Harry wasn’t convinced. Or, rather, Harry didn’t care. Manipulation or not, they were still the first real gift he had ever received.

Still, when Rita came knocking on Madame Bones’s front door, Harry refused to greet her. He felt a little guilty doing so, but he repeated Madame Bones’s words to himself over and over again. He would not be used.

-o-

**July 12 th, 1991**

Harry was reading in the study when he saw Gem the beetle crawling in. He didn’t know what Gem was – a real bug or an enchanted bug – but he was certain she was something Rita had charmed. He was glad Gem was alive, but he also felt rather bitter about how upset he’d been when he thought Dudley had killed her. Had Rita seen all that? Did she think him pathetic for being so attached to some stupid insect that it almost made him cry when it died? Did she think it was funny?

Harry scooped up the beetle and tossed it outside, then slammed the window shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a long time since I read the books. I am trying to fact check, but I may forget something or accidentally conflate fanon with canon. Feel free to point any mistakes out.


	4. Letters

**July 13 th, 1991**

Harry was eating dinner at The Scarlet Crup restaurant with the Boneses when Rita tried to approach him again. It was the first time he had made a public appearance as himself, and Madame Bones had hired a publicist to coach him on how to act friendly and polite – but not too friendly, so as not to seem smug, nor too polite, so as not to seem stand-offish. The publicist made him smile a lot – and corrected him on it a lot, too. A proper smile ought not to be too big or too small, too bright or too lopsided, too wry or too fake. And Merlin forbid he show too many or too few teeth. “Stop, stop, stop, Mr. Potter. You look like a three-tailed jackal – no, no, now you look like a pauper trying to hide missing teeth.” His eyes must crinkle as well – “crinkle, Mr. Potter, not squint.” He was sure his smile now looked like a severe case of rigor mortis.

“Do you have a publicist, Madame Bones?” Harry asked quietly at dinner. He had a hunch he already knew the answer. Madame Bones never smiled. Instead, she made an imposing picture in embroidered maroon robes, her gray-blond hair bound in a tight updo with golden threads, and her serious mouth perpetually turned down. She sat straight and ate with purpose, well-mannered, but not dainty like Susan’s mother beside her. 

Madame Bones opened her mouth to answer, then stood up abruptly, brandishing her wand in a movement that was both graceful and impressively swift. Harry had not seen her wand at all during dinner so far and wondered where it had come from. He hadn’t seen her pull it from any pocket. She aimed it at one Rita Skeeter, who was hurrying towards them from a few tables over, followed by two harried, protesting aurors.

“Harry, darling! There you are!” Rita called, eyes lighting up.

Madame Bones waved her wand, and a shield shimmered into existence in front of Rita, bringing her up short. “Madame Bones, is this really necessary?” she asked balefully.

Madame Bones looked pointedly between Rita and the entrance restaurant – in the opposite direction from which Rita came. “And how exactly did you bypass my aurors, Miss Skeeter?” She side-eyed the two aurors. One of them turned red in the face.

Rita made a delicate yet scornful “hmph” noise. “It’s not my fault our illustrious aurors are lacking, Miss Bones. Dangerously lacking, if you ask me.” Her eyes glinted dangerously, and it was only then that Harry noticed a green quill floating in the air beside her. She conjured a notepad in the palm of her hand, and the quill bounced up and down like an excited dog.

Madame Bones sighed. “Skeeter, must you?”

“Depends. How are you doing, Harry? Are you well?”

Her sudden attention made Harry freeze.

“Perhaps it would be best if we spoke alone,” Rita simpered.

“Absolutely not,” said Madame Bones.

Rita ignored her. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into saying anything you don’t want to say,” she said to Harry. “And if that means we need to speak alone,” she added, looking at Madame Bones, “then that’s just what we’ll do.”

Rita and Madame Bones stared at each other; then as one, they turned to Harry expectantly.

Harry gulped. “Um. Maybe….” He looked between the two women, torn between new glasses and shelves of books, between saccharine promises and stern warnings. Rita’s floating green quill pointed at him unnervingly. “Maybe another time,” he finally answered.

The quill drooped. Rita snapped the notepad shut and she gave Harry an inscrutable look. He blinked back at her and bit back the urge to apologize. Then, with a final glare at Madame Bones, Rita Skeeter whipped around and stalked toward the entrance. The two aurors hurried after her.

After Madame Bones sat back down, Harry asked, “Why did you need to use a shield to stop her? Rita’s… not a great person, but she wouldn’t hurt me.”

Madame Bones gave him one of those long looks, but before she could say anything, Susan’s father interrupted her. “Oh, Amelia, don’t scare the poor lad--”

“He needs to hear it,” she snapped.

“In front of Susan?” asked Susan’s mother, scandalized.

“You shelter her too much,” Madame Bones said with an air of finality, then turned to Harry. “I’ve already told you that people may want to use you, but that is not the worst of it. There was a whole other side to the war, Mr. Potter. A side who lost, and many on that side who may want to avenge that loss by harming you. I don’t think Rita Skeeter has any such designs, but there are potions and spells in this world that can disguise people to look exactly like someone else.”

“So you don’t think that was really Rita?” asked Harry.

“I do,” said Madame Bones. Harry opened his mouth to speak again, but Madame Bones held up a finger to quiet him. “However, it never hurts to be cautious, and verifying her identity would be quite the process, and frankly, not worth our time. Now, please, eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

Harry ate, but he didn’t really taste the food, too busy mulling over what Madame Bones had just said.

-o-

The first letter from Rita arrived the following morning at breakfast. Madame Bones had received it, cast a few spells on it, stared at it for a long moment, then handed it to Harry. “I cast a few detection charms on it. You should learn them once you learn basic charms in school. If you are still in my custody at that point, I shall teach them to you.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” said Harry, and Madame Bones nodded once in approval and returned to her tea and newspaper.

The letter was simply addressed to Harry Potter, no mention of his current address or bedroom. The envelope was crisp but plain, while the parchment itself was solid and glossy. In a beautiful, emerald cursive full of loops and flourishes, it read:

_My dear Harry,_

_I know our meeting was cut short yesterday, but I simply must check in on you. How are you, darling? Are you well? I do hope you don’t see me as the threat Ms. Bones may have presented me to be. I would love to chat over tea sometime, but I’m afraid she seems rather overprotective of you. Not that you shouldn’t be protected, of course, but you and I both know you can handle yourself better than most._

_I am not sure how much she has told you, so allow me. In our world, Muggles are viewed as childlike, dimwitted creatures who cannot be held responsible for their own behavior. (You and I both know better, of course, but, as much as I love our world, I must admit that witches and wizards can be quite dimwitted, stubborn creatures themselves as well.) I, of course, having seen the way they treated you, could not stand for them to get away without so much as a slap on the wrist, so I did my own digging. And Harry? I struck gold._

_Never be afraid to dig, darling. You never know what dirty secrets you’ll find under the muck. For it turns out dear old Aunt Petunia is more than a Muggle. She is a squib, a nonmagical descendent of a witch or wizard, and that means she belongs to our world. She will be given a trial and will face the consequences she deserves for how she treated you. Has Ms. Bones told you of this trial? There is no date set yet, as our government officials are too busy running around like headless chickens to deal with it properly, but I will keep you abreast. I sincerely hope you will be a witness. You deserve to tell your own story. I only want to help you do that – and I have the means to do it, too._

_Unfortunately, I also want to share a warning with you as well. If you have read the papers, then you also saw another discovery of mine. You are related to a very old, very great – but rapidly declining – family in wizarding Britain. The Crouches. For some reason, Mr. Crouch has denied his relation to you. I find this very suspicious, especially so because his home was very well guarded from my investigations._

_Not only do I find this suspicious, but I must be honest with you, Harry. I find something about Mr. Crouch deeply disturbing. Alarming, even. I don’t know what that is yet, though. I was a Slytherin, and we Slytherins have excellent intuition, you see. Though I advised you not to be afraid to ask questions, that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in a healthy dose of caution. There is something wrong with Mr. Crouch, Harry, something terribly wrong, and, I fear, terribly dangerous. Should you feel wronged by him – and I don’t blame you if you do – I beg of you to wait until you’re older and more powerful to express that feeling. Mr. Crouch is a formidable force. You could be one, too, someday. But not yet. Be patient._

_No matter what anyone may suggest, I care about you, Harry. I could not have allowed you to live with that horrid family, and I will not allow you to live with anyone remotely like them, magical or not. You may not like my means, but they get the job done, do they not? I am by no means a powerful witch, but, as the Muggles say, the pen is mightier than the sword, and I believe the pen is mightier than the wand, too. That humble belief has made me a force to be reckoned with in our world._

_Should you desire my help in any way, you need only ask._

_Yours,_

_Rita Skeeter_

-o-

**July 17 th, 199l**

The letter nagged at Harry, but still he did not respond. Madame Bones had approved of his decision, and after he shared some of what the letter contained, she lent him a book on child protection laws in wizarding Britain. It was dense, and he barely understood it, but he took enough away from it to understand that there were indeed other measures Rita could have taken to get him away from the Dursleys.

“The result does not justify the means, Harry,” Madame Bones told him, and he believed her. She also told him that this letter was _not_ , in fact, the first letter he had ever received. He had actually received thousands of letters. Fanmail, really, that was being redirected to a bottomless trunk in his Gringotts vault. Yes, she informed him, he had a vault at a bank. She would have to fetch his key from the Dursleys immediately. Yes, she informed him, he had many fans. And many haters. When they made their next trip to Diagon Alley, they would look at his fanmail, she promised him. He found himself a little intimidated and rather disbelieving.

He still felt bad for not responding, though, and felt even worse when another letter arrived from Rita.

_My dear Harry,_

_I hope you are well. Despite your lack of response, I assume you are. May I ask why you haven’t responded yet? Have I truly troubled you so? I would be happy to discuss your concerns over tea sometime. I must be honest with you, Harry, if it’s not me writing about you in the papers, it will be someone else, someone else who may not be as generous or as kind-hearted as myself. You are simply too public a figure to ignore._

_But let us not dwell on issues of publicity. No, I wanted to give you an update on your case before it comes out in the papers tomorrow. The Trial of Petunia Dursley has been set for August 15 th. This is good news for you, as you still won’t be in school and easily will be able to attend. That said, your new Headmaster acted very oddly when the Wizengamot convened to decide the case. He was adamant that the trial take place during the school year and that you not be allowed to attend. He suggested it would be too traumatizing for a child as young as yourself. Thankfully, the majority of the Wizengamot disagreed, if only for their own selfish reasons. They are eager to see you, it would seem. _

_Still, as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Dumbledore holds far too much sway over it. He is a manipulative man, and I fear that he may yet have Petunia’s trial pushed back into the school year so that your attendance becomes overly difficult. Should you wish to avoid his machinations, you may need the papers on your side. As I stated before, you need only say the word._

_For I find Headmaster Dumbledore’s behavior particularly out of character and disturbing. He likes to talk about how people’s choices define them; it seems odd then that he would be so adamant about taking away your choice in this situation. It’s piqued my interest. Have you ever met Albus Dumbledore before? He’s very old, with a long white beard and half-moon glasses. His eyes twinkle for some reason – perhaps the result of a curse's aftereffects. Have you heard of him? Did the Dursleys ever speak of him?_

_I am still trying to find out who placed you in their care in the first place, and I find myself turning my gaze towards him. Even if you are upset with me still, please let me know if you know anything about him. If he is also responsible for your situation with them, then he deserves to face justice, too._

_Yours,_

_Rita Skeeter_

Harry reread the letter twice before sighing and asking Madame Bones for her opinion on it. He did not really understand politics, especially ones in a world he was still so unfamiliar with.

Madame Bones frowned at the letter. At last, she murmured, “She may be right.”

After a long pause while Madame Bones stared unseeingly at the letter, deep in thought, Harry asked, “About what?”

Madame Bones sighed. “Albus Dumbledore will be your new Headmaster. He has many titles in our world and holds too much power, in my opinion. He has a good heart, but many people have good hearts. That does not always make their actions right.”

Harry stared at her blankly. He had no idea what she was talking about.

She sipped her tea. “No matter. Rita likes to make up and exaggerate her own facts, but what she’s saying here about Albus concerns me because this is not his only strange behavior regarding your wellbeing. You remember that I had to retrieve your Gringotts key from the Dursleys, correct?”

Harry nodded.

“They didn’t have it,” said Madame Bones. “They had no idea what I was talking about – which was, perhaps, a good thing, as I’m sure that greedy oaf of a man would have drained your vault in a second. But I digress. As your temporary guardian, it was within my rights to inquire with Gringotts about the possessor of your key. Dumbledore has it.”

Harry shook his head, bewildered. “How? I’ve never even met him.” He gestured at Rita’s letter. “No one mentioned him. I have no idea who he is. What did he do with it?”

“It would seem your parents entrusted him with all their vault keys while they were in hiding shortly before their deaths. I suspect he was helping to provide for their necessities so they never needed to leave the safehouse. I don’t know what he’s done with it yet. For that, we need to visit the bank together – if you agree to allow me to see your bank statements.” 

Harry nodded, still bewildered. “I – yes, please.”

“We’ll go this afternoon then,” she decided.

Harry turned his attention back to the letter. “Should I – should I respond?”

Madame Bones assessed him. “It’s up to you.”

Harry thought about it. “I think I’d like to.”

He tried to assess Madame Bones back, expecting to see at least a glimmer of disapproval, but she was stony and calm as ever. “You know where to find the parchment.” After a pause, she said, “I’m sure Hedwig will be happy to carry her first letter.”

She stood to leave the room, but Harry interrupted her before she could. “Hey, Madame Bones?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “What does macky—machination mean?”

Her lips tilted ever so slightly up into a smile.

-o-

_Dear Rita,_

_I’m sorry I didn’t respond to you sooner. I really was – and still am, I guess – upset that you told the whole world about how I was treated. I’ve only gone out in public a couple times now, but when I do, everyone looks at me with pity, and I really don’t like it. Or if they don’t look at me with pity, then they look at me with so much expectation. Or both! They all think I’m special, but I’m not, you know that. I can’t even remember what I’m famous for. I don’t want to be The Boy Who Lived When His Parents Died, and I don’t want to be The Boy Who Was Abused, either! Can’t I just be me? Just Harry? Do you really think that someone will write about me, even if you don’t?_

_And I know you think you had to do what you did the way you did it, but you didn’t. I read_ Youth Protection Laws of Britain in the 1900s _, so I know you could have gotten me out of there by reporting it to Madame Bones or basically any person of authority. By law they would have to investigate._

_But I still am glad you got me out. I don’t want you to think I’m not. I am. I really am grateful. Without you, I’d still be sleeping in a cupboard happy to eat bacon off the floor. But I have my own bedroom here, and Madame Bones feeds me plenty – I’ve had bacon fresh off the table six times now! And she’s gotten me new clothes and school supplies and an owl and a pretty cool trunk, and she wouldn’t even let me pay for any of it even though I apparently have money. She’s also made me read a lot of books. The glasses you gave me really help, by the way. I never knew the world could have so many textures! Thank you!_

_You probably already know that Madame Bones took off the tracking charm, though. That was pretty rude of you._

_I don’t really know what I feel about Crouch. I did read your article before I read your letter, and I guess, I don’t know, it’s just weird? If he doesn’t want me, then I don’t want him, either, I guess. No one’s ever really wanted me before, though, you know, so it’s not like I was surprised by it._

_Also, I don’t know Albus Dumbledore. My aunt and uncle never mentioned him. But I talked to Madame Bones about him, and it sounds like he wasn’t just weird about me in the Wizengamot. I don’t know if I should be telling you this, so maybe don’t let anyone know I told you, but Madame Bones said that when she tried to get my Gringotts key from the Dursleys, they didn’t have it, so she had to do her own investigating and ask the goblins about it. I guess for some reason Dumbledore has it. She thinks my parents gave their vault keys to him when they were in hiding. We’re going to Gringotts later today to find out more._

_Can you tell me more about Dumbledore? If he’s Headmaster does that mean I have to deal with him for the next seven years? Do you think I should just go along with whatever he wants then? It’s not really that big of a deal if I don’t go to Petunia’s trial, is it? I don’t know how I feel about that, either, I guess. Maybe angry? Maybe a little guilty? She was always going on about how much trouble I was. And even though I really didn’t eat much there, I was another mouth to feed like she said. One she and Uncle Vernon didn’t plan for. I guess having a random baby dropped on you would stress anyone out, wouldn’t it? What kinds of punishments do they use at Hogwarts?_

_Regards,_

_Harry_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, not crazy about this chapter, but it's progress. To be honest, I have no idea how to write letter-writing Harry. It seemed a lot better in my head. Also, Madame Bones has really grown on me, if you couldn't tell. She was definitely not going to feature this much in this fic. New ship, anyone? Madame Bones/Rita Skeeter? Maybe, maybe not.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, you may also like:  
> ["Thirty-Five Rules of Wizardry" by Credence Barebone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8846521).  
> Pairing: Credence Barebone/Newt Scamander  
> Summary:  
>  _1\. You are allowed to leave the suitcase. In fact, you ought to leave it at least once every three days, or Newt will start to worry._


End file.
